


Hold on

by TheDixcesters



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Daryl's PoV, Fluff, Holding Hands, M/M, Season 3, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2161224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDixcesters/pseuds/TheDixcesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl holds Merle's hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold on

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cannibalbat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannibalbat/gifts).



> Happy Birthday my love ♥

The night wind was howling outside of the prison, rattling on the metal bars in front of the windows, whooshing through the forest surrounding the building, causing the trees to sway from side to side like the waves of a giant, dark green ocean.

The steady rushing and rustling had something soothing, comforting in the otherwise quiet darkness of their prison cell, but still Daryl was unable to find sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed, the top of a bunk bed, and tried to find the perfect position to finally drift off into a light slumber at least. A cold puff of air swept over his back, making him shudder and pull the thin cotton blanket further over his body in protection. Even through the layers of clothing he wore to bed the cold still found a way to seep through, chilling him to the core.

Daryl screwed his eyes shut tightly as he rubbed the side of his face against the flat pillow, willing himself to sleep. He needed the rest, needed to restore his enegery. In a world like this, a fit body and a sharp, concentrated mind were the essentials to survive and a few hours less sleep could decide wether you would live or die the coming day.

But the more he tried to force himself sleep, to shut off his brain, the louder the thoughts and voices in his head got, making it impossible for him to relax enough to fall asleep.

With a long suffering sigh, Daryl kicked the sheets off of him and down to his feet, before heaving himself up to sit on the mattress. After turning around and letting his feet hang off the ladder of the bunk bed, he pricked up his ears, waiting and listening for any sound coming from the bed underneath his own. 

Now that he concentrated on it, he was able to hear his Merle's soft snoring over the howling wind outside. He smiled fondly at the sound, taking comfort in the knowledge that his brother was so close to him, save and alive.

Quickly, he climbed down the narrow ladder, taking care to not make too much noise. The metal of the steps was cold on his bare feet, and when he finally made contact with the concrete floor of the cell, a shiver ran down Daryl's spine. 

His eyes had already adjusted to the dark so it was easy for him to make out his surroundings as he looked around around the prison cell and under the bunk bed.

His heart ached a little at the sight of his sleeping brother laying on his back, blanket pulled up to his chest which was heaving and sinking with every slow, steady breath he took.

Daryl stood there for a while and just watched Merle sleep, noticed how every now and then his fingers tightened their grip around the blanket, how the corners of his mouth twitched, listened to the quiet, sounds his older brother made in the back of his throat, a mixture between growls and sighs occasionally interrupting the steady rhythm of his snoring.

The air around him in the bottom bunk smelled of sweat and sleep and Daryl could practically feel the heat radiating off of Merle's body, even though Daryl himself had been freezing in his own bed earlier. The thought alone of how cozy and warm it had to be under the blanket, beside his big brother, had his stomach clenching wistfully.

Daryl nodded to himself, gathering all his courage to take that last step forward and reach out for the corner of Merle's blanket. 

He tugged at the fabric. No reaction. The second time he pulled at it, Daryl was a lot more confindent, motivated by the promise of warmth and a comfort, and the following tug proved to be firm enough to get Merle moving and to let go of the blanket. His big brother let out a sleepy, irritated groan and shuffled to the side, away from what was disturbing his sleep.

The prison beds were very small, even for a single man, so it took a lot of painfully slow and careful movements from Daryl's part to lift the blanket, sensitively manoeuver Merle's lax, mostly uncoorparative body as far to the side as even possible and squeeze himself into the bed and under the sheets beside his brother without fully waking him.

It was cramped, it was stuffy, it was perfect. Daryl lay on his back, left side pressed against his brother's warm, solid body, their legs tangled. Even though he didn't really wanted to risk the possibilty of waking Merle up, his own arm was still uncomfortably trapped between them both against Merle's metal prothesis, which also prevented him from cuddling closer to his brother's chest.

Daryl grabbed Merle's arm, lifted it up from the mattress and gently moved it around so it lay across the pillow and he was finally able to rest his head on his big brother's shoulder. 

He snuggled a little closer to him, rubbed his cheek against Merle's upper arm, sighing happily at the feelig of sleep warm skin on his face and the familiar smell of his big brother around him.

The younger Dixon lifted his right arm and draped it over his big brother's chest, splaying his palm over the place where he could feel Merle's heart beating in synch to every deep, snoring breath.

He let his hand glide over the rough, stained fabric of Merle's wifebeater, down to his belly where Merle's left hand lay on top of the blanket, and gently put his palm over it.

For a second, Daryl feared that his brother would pull his hand away or wake up and throw him out of the bed, but a quick reassuring look proved that Merle was still fast asleep, eyes rolling under his eyelids and brow furrowing from time to time.

Daryl let his fingertips glide over Merle's hand.

The dry and callused skin at his knuckles where the one or other bruise and scar from a bar fight had graced the skin before, not only once resulting out of someone throwing the wrong look at Merle's baby brother and regretting it later, but also coming from reminding Daryl himself to be careful about what he said to the older Dixon.

The short, dirty nails which had scraped across his skin a countless times before, never failing to let a shiver run down Daryl's spine and make the hairs on his arms stand up from the sensation. The nails that had dug at his shirt again and again when Daryl had turned to leave, and had held him back. The nails that gently scratched and massaged his scalp at night, ruffling his hair, when they lay close to eachother, searching protection and safety in eachothers arms without a word said.

The rough and damp skin on Merle's palm, every line, every crease and vein, that felt so good on his skin, carressing his scarred back when Daryl sat on top of Merle, roaming over every inch of his body, heating it up, melting it and holding it together all the same. The palms that wrapped around Daryl's hand when he helped him up, gripped him firmly when his big brother pulled him up or forwards. The palm that spendt him comfort and warmth when it rested on his shoulder, sometimes not more than a quick pat, just a gentle reminder that Merle was by his side.

As he intertwined his fingers with Merle and felt his brother's fingers instinctively tightening around his, holding him there even in his sleep, Daryl couldn't help but to think back to the moment on the rooftop in Atlanta when he had found nothing more than his brother's servered hand and how unreal it had seemed to not feel the same life curse through the limb anymore that had been a part of his brother for so long. 

Now that he had thought about it, since the day Merle had gone missing and until the day he had finally been reunited with his brother, he himself had felt like a cut off limb. A lifeless, cold and missing body part, uncomplete and without any further purpose, without any function on his own.

But he was here now, and that was what mattered the most. Daryl holding onto Merle, Merle holding onto Daryl, sharing the same bed, breathing the same air, pumping the same blood.

Daryl's eyelids grew heavy and he jawned, pressing a dry, soft kiss into his big brother's neck. He heard Merle murmur something in his sleep, could feel him shifting ever so slightly before he felt the older Dixon's thumb move, starting to tenderly carress Daryl's fingers, up and down, up and down, up and down...

... he finally drifted off into sleep.


End file.
